


Finding Agape

by Lilhoneysuckle4



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Plant Wrote This, Agape Yuri Plisetsky, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Family, Family Issues, Gen, Home, Hopeful Ending, Mental Health Issues, Okaeri | yoihomezine, Poverty, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilhoneysuckle4/pseuds/Lilhoneysuckle4
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky reminisces his rough past and the people who have come and gone in his life as he struggles to find the true meaning of his short-program, On Love: Agape.





	Finding Agape

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! We're finally able to post our Okaeri pieces so here is my introspective piece about Yuri Plisetsky featured in the дом edition. 
> 
> Please note that this is written in the POV of a fifteen year old and thus the narration will not necessarily reflect my own views and understanding of substance abuse and mental health. I have also corrected some errors that I didn't notice until after submitting my final piece. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who purchased the zine! We raised $1649 for UNHCR! For those of you who were not able to purchase the zine for whatever reason, I hope you enjoy all the pieces everyone worked so hard on! <3

Agape was difficult.

  
As Yuri exited the sit spin, he could feel his lungs burn with strain. Memorizing the elements was easy, but executing it made him realize that his senior debut was going to be on a level he never skated before. He was frustrated and Victor’s attitude was really grating on his nerves.   
  
(The sting of Victor’s forgetfulness over the promise he made and his obvious pining over the pig even more so.)  
  
Victor’s annoying clap reverberated against the rafters of Ice Castle, signaling for Yuri to stop mid-routine  _again_. Victor stood on the ice, his stupid fake smile plastered on his face as he lectured Yuri about his supposed lack of feeling in  _On Love: Agape_. Yuri swore that if Victor spouted some more philosophical whimsy about going to a temple he was going to take off one of his skates and chuck it at him.  
  
“What does Agape mean to you?”  
  
He actually put serious thought into the question, despite his abrasive answer and turning the question back on Victor himself. When Victor prattled on about some bullshit of agape being hard to define as it is a feeling, something intangible much like the love of God or a parent, Yuri scoffed at the idea.  
  
In his fifteen years of life, he had never felt unconditional love from either.  
  


_Living with mom - Moscow, Russia_

  
He had never known his father. By the time he was five years old, he understood that his father was out of the picture and never would be in it. It was up to him, and sometimes grandpa, to hold his mother’s hair back as she puked up that foul liquid she had been drinking all day; to rub her back as she sobbed and whimpered out half-assed apologies, yet still grabbing for the poison the next day like it was her lifeblood.  
  
He started school smaller than the other kids, which was difficult enough without the concerned glances from his teachers and the visits to the counselor’s office where they would ask about what life was like at home. He never answered much. The school never intervened as there was no actual proof of abuse or neglect (and Yuri would never have defined it as such anyway) so they continued to let him take the school bus home where he’d find his mother sitting at the dining table with another drink, heavy bags under her eyes, as she fretted over the newest bill to arrive in the mail.  
  
At seven years old, he had learned enough math to know they weren’t doing well— despite how hard his mother tried to hide it. Before he was born, she was ballerina with a bright future...until she got pregnant at seventeen. The damage to her reputation was harsh, but she managed to find a job as an instructor. The pay was meager, barely enough to support herself let alone a child, so she would eat less, go without, make sacrifices— all to make sure he had enough...the alcohol she abused was the only exception.  
  
He never blamed her. Stress was high and inebriation was her only escape. He always felt guilty asking for anything, so to help out he would take quick, cold showers as to not run up the gas and water bills higher than they already were, shivering yet soldiering on. There were times where the power would go out, leaving the food in the fridge to rot and his mother to fret and overwork herself to try and make ends meet. At the end of each day, when she drank herself to an unconscious heap, he’d help her move from the dining room to her bedroom.  
  
Rinse. Wash. Repeat.  
  
It was difficult, but overall it wasn’t so bad. The winters were harsh in Moscow without heating, but at least they had each other and grandpa. There wasn’t much in the way of celebrating birthdays or holidays and it reached the point where he no longer asked— but even so, grandpa always made sure he had a decent pair of ice skates to practice in once he fell in love with the sport. He got through school like any other kid, ate enough that he wasn’t starving, and he got to ice skate after school every day for free. He had no complaints.  
  
The best moments were when his mom was sober. It was hard to find her not drinking, the most excessive spells being at the end of the month when stress was high, but there were times few and far between where she would smile and spend her free time with him instead of at the bar or the dance studio. They would dance together and laugh, and on special occasions they would go to the animal shelter and cuddle with all of the kitties and she would promise that one day, when everything got better, she would adopt one for him.  
  
It was hard, but he was happy.  _They_  were happy.  
  
Until one afternoon he came home to find his mother, drunk and crying, with an eviction notice in her hand.  
  


_Hasetsu On Ice - Hasetsu, Kyushu, Japan_

  
Leaving Ice Castle before the pig even finished his routine left a heavy weight in his stomach. Yuuko tried to cushion the blow somewhat, but he knew from the look on Victor’s face and that  _disgusting_ whistle at the beginning of Katsudon’s routine that he was fighting a losing battle.  
  
Victor wasn’t coming back to Russia, and  _“Yurio” didn’t belong here_.  
  
He ignored the way his eyes burned as he said his last  _do svidanya_  to Yuuko, who had treated him with nothing but the kind of care and attention he wished he had received from his mother during his competitions and ice shows.  
  
What he didn’t expect, as he was waiting in the terminal for his flight back to St. Petersburg, was to see his mother standing off to the side, waiting for him to notice her presence.  
  
To say he was shocked was an understatement.  
  
The bags under her eyes were less prominent, but she did not age well despite being only in her thirties. There was a certain heaviness in her features, the product of a lifetime of stress and addiction. Her smile was soft, her eyes bright, as if for the first time she was truly seeing him without the fog of inebriation.  
  
“Your skate was lovely, Yura,” she began, her voice strained as if holding back tears. If he wasn’t so shocked, he would have corrected her. She had lost the right to call him by his diminutive years ago when she abandoned him. He was still trying to grasp that she was here, in Japan, and had watched his first performance of Agape.  
  
A little too late, if you ask him, but yet he still paused, his saliva thick and his throat just slightly constricted from the overwhelming emotions waging war inside of him.  
  
He didn’t stop her from sitting next to him, but the silence was uncomfortable.  
  
A part of him wanted to rage, to demand answers, but even he knew that the situation was delicate. He never blamed her for the hardships of his life, no, and he knew that’s where most of her guilt came from. But the one question he never received answers for, the one that still made it difficult to look her in the eye, was why did she  _leave_?  
  
Why did she try so hard and sacrifice so much in order to support him in his early years if she was only going to abandon him later?  
  
_Did he even matter to her?_  
  
She let out a sigh, realizing that he had no intention of speaking with her. “I know there’s a lot I need to make up for,” she began, hesitating slightly as she twisted a handkerchief in her hands, “and I understand if you never forgive me, but I would like a chance to at least be here for you now, to support you in your career like I should have.” Her eyes began to water so she quickly dabbed them with the distressed handkerchief. “I won’t ask for anything else.”  
  
The remainder of the trip home was silent. Yuri didn’t know how he felt about it, but as long as his mother didn’t distract him he would let her do whatever she wants.  
  
But deep down, beyond the pain and anger, he felt a slight pang of nostalgia.  
  
He had missed his mom.  
  


_Living with Nikolai - Moscow, Russia_

  
Living with his grandpa started out great. He and his grandpa had always been close and the homemade pirozhki was a huge bonus. Winters were still harsh and the house was falling apart since his grandpa wasn’t exactly well off either, having been one of the victims of losing his job at the fall of the union, but he had enough for them to get by at least.  
  
The hard part wasn’t living with grandpa…the hard part was watching his mother slowly wither away; overhearing the arguments his mother would get in with grandpa over her drinking, the angry voices and the shattering of liquor bottles as grandpa tried to convince her to get help and quit.  
  
He pretended every morning that he didn’t hear a thing, but he knew grandpa saw through his facade. Grandpa always tried to make it up to him by getting him out of the house, usually to spend extra time at the skating rink, just so he didn’t have to watch his mother drink herself stupid or deal with the silence of her absence when she disappeared to who-knows-where.  
  
He pretended he didn’t care. So what if his mom never showed up to watch him skate, to see him be chosen to participate in skating competitions and shows because he was getting better and better? So what if the house was now full of arguments and emotional breakdowns every other night?  
  
He didn’t care.  
  
He didn’t.  
  
He kept skating with a single-minded focus. He would hear on the radio of Victor Nikiforov quickly becoming Russia’s living legend and he could feel the burn of determination, the desire to be the best skater of them all. He was only ten years old and he was already able to do jumps that kids in juniors were still struggling with and his spins were the best in his entire age group.  
  
He would prove that he was strong.  
  
He would.  
  
As long as grandpa was able to show up to his competitions, he didn’t care if his mother never supported him.  
  
The day his life changed forever was the day he was in a local competition at a small rink in Moscow. He had to take the bus, his grandpa complaining of back pains and his mother was too inebriated to drive, but he made it just on time. He didn’t have a fancy costume and his skates were in need of repair, but none of the other kids could top his skill, his flexibility, his choreography. He worked until his feet were bruised and bleeding and it was all worth it to have that golden medal placed around his neck.  
  
As he stepped off the ice, he frantically looked for grandpa. Despite his back trouble, he promised he’d be there.  
  
But he wasn’t.  
  
It felt like his entire chest had caved in, crushed by the absence of the man he wanted to make proud. The excitement over his win was gone in an instant. He fought back tears, still continuing to look around to see if maybe, just maybe, he had missed his grandpa sitting farther away or... _something_ …  
  
An elderly man began to approach him, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to hope, but the old man wasn’t grandpa. His skin was tanned and he had significantly less hair on the top of his head. He didn’t walk with a limp and the square of his jaw was harsher, his eyes calculating.  
  
The man held out his right arm to shake his hand. “Congratulations on gold, Yuri Plisetsky. My name is Yakov Feltsman.”  
  


_Rostelecom Cup - Moscow, Russia_

  
Yuri tried to get through Agape, but the absence of grandpa left a sour taste in his mouth. His vision blurred and all he could feel was simmering contempt, not the lightness of the all-encompassing love he was supposed to demonstrate in the short program.  
  
Victor and Yuuri yelling their support from the sidelines only enraged him further. He didn’t need them. It’s not like they meant it anyway.  
  
No one ever did.  
  
Yakov and Lilia tried to keep him grounded, but his focus was lost. He got through the skate with little to no error, but he knew he would have to over-perform in his free if he wanted to win and rub his victory in JJ’s smug face.  
  
And when Victor had to suddenly return to Japan, leaving Katsudon to compete by himself...he felt pity.  
  
It was strange feeling empathy towards the pig, but he knew the feeling of abandonment and he knew it well. Even though Victor’s absence was temporary, having a loved one leave in the middle of something that’s important to you always left a gaping hole behind. During practice the morning before the free skate, Yuuri was flubbing his jumps more so than usual.  
  
He pretended he didn’t care.  
  
...but he did.  
  
Later on, Grandpa made up his absence to him with an entire bag of pirozhki. Grandpa was his inspiration for his Agape for this reason because even though he had disappointed him just as much as his mother did, he at least  _tried_. He didn’t make excuses, he didn’t give senseless apologies and self-depreciating anecdotes. He just showed up once his back healed with a pile of pirozhki or some words of encouragement. Grandpa never doubted him, never underestimated his strength. He had faith that Yuri could overcome any obstacle and it was a relieving to have someone who didn’t dance around his emotions like he was a child.  
  
The gift also gave him an idea to help cheer Katsudon up...just this once.  
  
The free skate was hell, his whole body burning with exhaustion. He felt a searing pain in his right thigh that had him worried of a pulled muscle and a twitch in his left hip that made his entire leg shake, but he pulled it off and managed to make it into first with only JJ and Katsudon left. He was proud, and the smile on his grandpa’s face made him even more excited, and for once he felt confident enough to cheer Katsudon on…  
  
JJ’s comment made him pause. So what if he low-key considered Katsudon a friend? At least he wasn’t as bad as Victor. Katsudon’s skate was still beautiful, despite his inconsistencies with the quad flip. He would never admit it to anyone, but if the pig had anything it was his step sequences and overall emotion in his choreography.  
  
He tried to ignore it, to save face in front of JJ, but it was difficult to tear his eyes away.  
  
Huh…  
  
Katsudon and Victor really do love each other.  
  


_Living alone - St. Petersburg, Russia_

  
The government sponsorship was a dream come true. He had been scouted as a potential candidate for the 2016 Winter Youth Olympics to represent Russia, and with it all came his own apartment in St. Petersburg and a coaching contract with  _the_   _Yakov Feltsman_.  
  
The only contingent was that he must win most of his competitions. Yuri was just fine with that.  
  
The summer after his first gold medal was spent in Yakov’s junior training camp. He had never taken formal ballet lessons before and yet he was still one of the best in the class— whispers of him being the next Victor Nikiforov began circling due to his natural talent. He took the praise, but he never lost sight of what was important.  
  
Grandpa was unable to move to St. Petersburg, his health as well as his livelihood in Moscow preventing him, but his mother tagged along and for the first time in years he felt excited. It would be just like old times with her, only this time they had enough and she wouldn’t have to drink away her sorrows. They could start living the good life if Yuri continued to skate well and he knew he would. He was dominating in beginner competitions and he would be able to skate at the junior level in two years, the Youth Olympics in four, and seniors in five. The private sponsorships would start rolling in and he’d be set.  
  
His mom wouldn’t have to worry about anything from now on. She had exhausted herself to be there for him, now it was his turn to take care of her.  
  
...or so he thought.  
  
He almost couldn’t believe it, but his mother actually drank  _more_. There was never a time that she wasn’t drinking, even when she was sick and hungover. Yuri would leave early in the morning and his mother would be on the balcony, a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other. He would come home for lunch most days just to try and spend some time with her, but she would be gone...no note, no explanation, and she wouldn’t return until late in the evening.  
  
It wasn’t until he was a little older that he realized the reason she always wore long sleeves wasn’t because she was cold. She kept it well hidden and out of his apartment, but it soon became obvious that alcohol was no longer her only vice.  
  
The parts that hurt the most were the few times he did manage to run into her. She would avoid eye contact, keep her answers short, and he could see the shame in her body language yet she did nothing about it. The dark circles under her eyes were a permanent fixture, she was too thin, and she was always scratching at the marks down her arms. They would fight, yell and scream at each other similar to the way she did with grandpa, but he wasn’t patient like grandpa was.  
  
It was always “I don't need therapy, Yura” or “It's nothing Yura, don't worry about me” until his temper would hit a breaking point. She'd make excuses, disregard how much damage she was doing to her body, the damage she was doing to  _him_  every time she left. She would cry and moan of how she was a terrible mother as if to make him feel sorry for her, to make him pity and put up with her self destruction all so she didn't have to take responsibility for her own actions.  
  
Things were finally improving for them, why couldn’t she just  _try_? Why would she actively work toward destroying everything they worked for? He was willing to take care of her, to give her the time to recover until she could go back to teaching dance again. None of it made sense to him and it made him inexplicably  _angry_.  
  
Why couldn’t she at least be happy for him? He had accomplished so much in a short amount of time and not once did she ever say that she was proud of him. In fact, with his success, she only seemed to become more disappointed, more distant…  
  
The image of his mother became tarnished and their relationship strained. The last thing he heard from her before she disappeared was a handwritten note left on his coffee table.  
  
_I’m sorry._  
  


_Grand Prix Final - Barcelona, Spain_

  
_Yuri Plisetsky had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier._  
  
The words echoed back at him at he lay in his hotel bed. Meeting Otabek was an interesting experience, considering he never had a friend around his age. Growing up, he was mostly ignored as he had a “bad attitude”— and later, he focused more on skating rather than socializing. It felt nice to finally find someone who took him seriously and genuinely wanted to be his friend.  
  
Yet he also felt hesitation. He never talked to Otabek before and yet Otabek was able to see the parts of him that he usually kept guarded.  
  
The vulnerability was scary.  
  
Was that what he had been missing? He had loved ones that he kept close, but he never allowed himself to be vulnerable with them. With his mom, he put on a brave face for her so that she wouldn’t stress out more. With grandpa, he hid his disappointment because he knew it wasn’t his grandpa’s fault that his health was declining. Even with Victor and Yuuri, who he was close to regardless of his annoyance with them, he refused to show them the parts of himself he’d rather keep hidden. Victor had a habit of making light of the situation by teasing him, which made him even more hesitant to share. Katsudon was a bit better, listening without making the situation awkward or giving him unnecessary advice and pity, but he still struggled separating Katsudon from Victor that getting close to him felt awkward.  
  
The engagement announcement still made him sick. Who got engaged so early in a relationship?   
  
Those two were too sentimental, too hopeful…  
  
Too lonely.  
  
That’s the thought he had as he found Victor staring out at the sea the next morning. The sight of Victor’s defeated expression caught him off guard. His first instinct was to wipe that pathetic look off of Victor’s face so he kicked him until it disappeared.  
  
Yuri didn’t pretend that he didn’t understand. Victor had been the top skater for Russia for longer than most people were in the sport. Dedicating your life to your craft always made it hard to make friends, spend time with family, process trauma...he turned and walked away quickly so Victor couldn’t see his momentary flash of empathy. He might understand, but it's no excuse to just give it up— to throw it all away.  
  
Maybe what they all needed was balance.  
  
“The ocean here reminds me of Hasetsu,” he commented dryly, giving voice to at least some of his thoughts. Victor smiled in response and something clicked into place.  
  
Russia was no longer home for Victor. Victor found something in Hasetsu, in Yuuri, that gave him a sense of peace that skating never could.  
  
Yuri walked away feeling more at war with himself. The last twenty-four hours gave him too much to process.  
  
Living with mom was full of love, but there were too many empty promises and stress was always high. Living with grandpa was full of pirozhki and quality time with his family, but also full of anger and disappointment. Living on his own wasn’t what he had hoped, full of resentment and loneliness from his mother’s abandonment. Living with Yakov and Lilia was an experience, but it was purely professional and reeked of a broken home with their strained relationship from the divorce. He briefly thought of Yutopia Katsuki and Ice Castle, and while he didn’t consider Hasetsu a home he did feel more at ease around Katsudon’s friends and family— but being forgotten by Victor and his loss against Katsudon made his visit bitter.  
  
The more Yuri thought about it, the more he wondered…  
  
Where did he belong?  
  
He carried the question with him as he prepared for the short program. He felt calm as he thought about everything, ignoring the skaters before him. He knew his grandpa was watching the live stream, as well as his mother who was living with grandpa again, and the Katsuki’s were having a viewing party according to Yuuko’s texts. He had the support of so many people, even his own competitors, and he thought of them all as he finally stepped out onto the ice.  
  
His mind was blank, nothing but his feelings— the good, the bad, the old, the new, for his loved ones.   
  
For three and a half minutes, he finally felt like he was  _home_. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter [@Lilhoneysuckle4](https://www.twitter.com/Lilhoneysuckle4) and on Tumblr [@lilhoneysuckle4](http://www.lilhoneysuckle4.tumblr.com)


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